


Six of Swords

by Shalebridge_Cradle



Category: 16th Century CE RPF, Six - Marlow/Moss
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Gen, character tags added as they appear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-19 02:13:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29743416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shalebridge_Cradle/pseuds/Shalebridge_Cradle
Summary: A cursed king. A missing queen. A regent under attack from all sides, as he desperately tries to keep order. Rumours of demons, shadows and nightmares spawning in the darkest parts of the kingdom, and growing talk of civil unrest.Anne wasn’t involved in any of that. Really. She and her cousin were busy with other things, like being imprisoned.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22





	1. Ace of Pentacles

**Author's Note:**

> I debated posting this, perhaps more than I should have. The morality of certain types of fiction is something that I’ve been researching and pondering quite a bit, given my continuation of What Are You Going to Do With Your Life and zombie queens of England. Like many stories of mine, it was an idea that seized me, that I brainstormed while trying to sleep, and made comprehensible enough to be put into a document. Like the other work I’m currently writing, it involves real, historical figures, distant enough from the present day that many of the specifics of their lives have become lost to history, and the figures themselves often portrayed contrary to the actual person they were.  
> I wished to explore certain aspects of these people and their time period in a metaphorical, fantastical way. In doing so, I have placed them in roles and positions they would not have been in. I simply want to clarify that, as you have probably already figured out, _this is a work of fiction and the portrayals herein are not reflections of the true-to-life individuals they are based on_.  
> Moving on.

Cold.

Stone and iron kept them in place, sitting upon the slightly slimy floor of the prison. Their amenities, one bed of rotted straw and a bucket. There was no way out but up the stairs, where a guard would stop them.

A woman, dark-haired and dark-eyed with a dancer’s frame, watched lazily as water dripped from the ceiling to a small puddle on the floor. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of mould, moss, some of the nastier odours found in a dungeon, and from the unequally unpleasant realisation she had been caught. Again.

This woman’s name was Anne. She had a surname, but she no longer used it.

These sorts of things happen more than they really should, for a woman of her education. But, alas, she was barred from more stable careers, and mock-fights didn’t pay nearly as much as she was worth. So, she turned to other methods – and she acknowledged her crimes are crimes, both her and her partner did, but she always focused on targeting the selfish, the cruel, and the conceited. Some smuggling here, the occasional con there, only taking what people could afford to lose – and with the upper classes, their pride was never a necessary possession.

“It was a good idea,” her cellmate said. Another woman, younger. Beautiful, but far from the image of frail femininity. Her calloused fingers tap against the stone floor in a quick, complicated rhythm.

It was, Anne silently agreed, not only because it was _her_ idea. The only problem was a lack of research. Yes, the Duke had a bastard daughter about twenty years previous, no, his powerful wife with her powerful family didn’t know about it, and would have been upset if they found out. Perfect avenue for a bit of money from a greedy, contemptuous man. Unfortunately, what Anne _didn’t_ know was the Duke had already met his illegitimate child, and she looked nothing like the fake – her cousin and business partner, Katherine Howard.

So, now both of them were here, in a precarious situation – though not as precarious as it could be. They did still have that woman’s existence as a metaphorical ace up their sleeve should a nastier punishment be in contention. Anne could just spread the rumour, and it would reach the ears of the Duchess before the trial, or cause a riot and escape in the confusion. They’ve done it before, and can do so again.

Footsteps accented by the clank of armour was coming down the steps. Anne straightened, while Katherine stood. A guardsman with a humourless face, which did not pair well with his ridiculous moustache, appeared in front of the cell.

“You’re being released.”

“What, just like that?” exclaimed Anne.

“The Duchess, in her infinite mercy, has granted you clemency,” said the guard, still completely stone-faced. “Her emissary will escort you. First, you must collect your belongings.”

Katherine looked to Anne, confused, but Anne’s shrug was the only answer she had.

They were escorted into a tiny room upstairs, with one door, one table, and one chair. No windows. The chair’s occupant, waiting patiently, had their face obscured by darkness and the fickle glow of a dying candle. Anne could identify a few scant details, though; the embroidery on their doublet, the hint of perfume, and the strange light in their eyes – from the candle or another source, she did not know.

The stranger spoke in a low and comforting voice, the auditory equivalent of being wrapped in a warm blanket. “How fortunate. It _is_ you, young Katherine.”

Katherine’s face lit up with recognition, and delight – unusual, for a woman with her past.

“Anna? Is that you?”

“It is! I’m pleased to have finally found you again. I am so sorry for letting you go.”

“Oh, no, no, you didn’t have a choice! If I didn’t need the money, I would have stayed –”

“Erm, sorry,” Anne interrupted, “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”

“Oh, of course, how rude of me. Anna von Kleve, former emissary to the United Duchies,” the woman bowed her head slightly in lieu of a curtsy.

“ _Former_ , and yet you’re still here,” noted Anne. “Empire, right?”

“Correct. I prefer it here. Far more freedom here than I would have back home. And you are…?”

Katherine stepped in. “My cousin, Anne Taurine.”

Anna von Kleve’s eyes gleamed, and a slight smirk twitches at her lip.

“A pleasure to meet you, Anne,” said the Imperial, a voice like velvet. “You're running from your family, as well? Not that I judge, of course, far from it.”

Anne considered. Technically, it was true, but there were more non-relatives that she needed to avoid than members of her brood. “Accused of a crime I didn’t commit. Not this one. How did you know Katherine was here?”

“Pure chance, as it happens. I had stopped over here, when I heard a girl matching your companion’s description had been taken in. I asked about, and I had a name – Katherine Howard! A servant of mine, once before, when I first arrived in this country! I wanted to see her again, so I organised that you would be released into my custody.”

“So you work for the Duchess?” Anne asked.

Anna did not answer.

She summoned the guard, who led them to collect their things – armour, weapons (sheathed, according to local laws – don’t commit more crime than you have to), and their other meagre possessions. These must have been taken from their room at the inn.

Anne caught Anna examining one of her belongings – her half-mask. It was a simple affair, Chalk-white with a hooked, pointed nose. She used a bandana to protect the lower half of her face; she was of the opinion it looked better that way, and she was usually a pretty good judge of aesthetic.

“You use this to hide your identity?” she questioned.

“Sort of,” Anne replied. “It makes people look, when I wear it. I take it off, just another face in the crowd, a different person.”

“I see.”

The guard gave Anna a sheet to sign. She did so, and Anne could not quite see what was written down, but she strongly suspected it was not the name Anna von Kleve. That might have been a clue. There was something about this woman – Katherine trusted her completely, but that didn’t mean she was deserving of it. She was hiding something.

They are all escorted out of the guard post, and Anne has to narrow her eyes at the blinding light of day. It hadn’t been that long since they were arrested, as there were people still on the street and the traders still at their stalls. Anna leads them through the crowds, most notably away from the castle.

“So,” Katherine began, “what are we doing?”

“Leaving,” Anna replied. “Immediately. I don’t work for the Duchess. I tricked a lot of people into freeing you, and we need to go before they catch on.”

-

“How are we going to get out?”

They’d gone down hidden sidestreets, alleys, took shortcuts through abandoned buildings, but nothing was going to change the fact that each gate out of the town was guarded. No secret passages through the walls, or anything.

“We will,” von Kleve reassured Katherine. “I would’ve preferred a less obvious way, but circumstances call for it. Let’s see, now…”

Anna pulls a deck of cards from a pouch on her side, adjusting them, fanning them out and shuffling them – but there was something off about them. The pictures – not just the average symbols and royal portraits. There were geometric patterns among the artwork, almost like spiderwebs, glowing with a soft red light.

Ah, glowing. Right, it was thaumaturgy. That explained a lot.

Anna picked out one card, and the rest of the deck put itself back into a pile. “Right. Stay close, don’t talk to anyone as we go.”

And so they did. It was quite incredible how no-one even spared them a glance; Anne was used to getting stares while wearing her mask (indeed, that’s part of the reason she wore it), and it was a bit of a shock when she didn’t receive any – like right now.

They made it out, the guards having apparently gone blind, and were well onto the main road before Anna returned the card to the deck.

“There we are,” she said, “free again.”

Anne leaped on the chance to confirm or assuage her suspicions. “Now that’s out of the way, who do you work for? Why did you break us out?”

“No-one. I assure you, I haven’t lied to you. I didn’t want to release Katherine from my service, but at that time I could not pay what she needed to survive. I am not quite financially stable, but it seems circumstances have changed for the both of us and I am thrilled to see her again.”

“I never knew you were a thaumaturge,” added Katherine.

“It wasn’t relevant to my position. Besides, I’m not licensed.”

“Licensed?”

Ah, that’s right, thought Anne. Magic was more heavily regulated in The Empire than it was here. True, the nobility turned to more established thaumaturges to solve problems rather than hedge wages, but hedge magic wasn’t illegal, nor were any practitioners forced into categories. It was only black magic and conjuration that would end in a horrible fate, here, not just a lack of an official seal or something. No wonder Anna preferred this country.

von Kleve explained what she’d been doing since she and Katherine parted ways, and Anne found herself just as hooked on the story, if only for the sound of Anna’s voice. She had lost her funding from the Duke (her brother, as it turned out) when she asked to stay – an action he could not and would not accept. His attention had been diverted, after all, when he had inherited a new duchy with a dire need for updated infrastructure, and no longer sent funds to support his sister. As such, she took up gambling to make money, since card games were always something she was good at, and managed to start saving a bit of coin throughout the ups and downs that such a lifestyle brought. Her attendants were long gone by that point, though, to her great regret. She had hoped to see them again, which is why she was so pleased when she heard news of who she thought was Katherine.

“Why was it that the United Duchies needed an emissary?” asked Anne.

von Kleve smiled. “Interested in politics, are you?”

“A bit.” _Why did she keep smiling like that?_

“A trade deal, as it happens. My brother had metals and alchemical supplies your country needed. I volunteered to represent him, but when I had an audience with your king, he didn’t seem that fond of me. The deal fell through for several reasons.”

“Yeah, I can imagine. Is he still trapped in that false sleep of his?”

“I think we’d have heard if he wasn’t.”

The Royal House was in shambles. The King, held captive in cursed sleep. The Queen, missing. The Lord Regent, Thomas Cromwell (the utter bastard, may he die from a thousand paper cuts), was supposedly holding things together administratively, but resentment and strife were growing in all echelons of society from the uncertainty of affairs.

“Moreover,” Anna continued, “there are rumours going around. Caravans attacked, hamlets living in fear – of people that aren’t people. Corruptions, they say. Demons, or shades.”

“Any truth in them?”

“I haven’t seen one myself, if that’s what you mean. Not good for anyone if it is correct.”

“That might be something to follow up on,” said Katherine. She looked to Anne. “I’d like to stay out of anything illegal for a while, if that’s okay. Maybe we can earn some coin through monster hunting – real monsters, of course, not just scared wild animals.”

Anne frowned, deliberating. She wanted to keep her cousin safe and well – something that clearly wasn’t happening with scamming the rich and powerful, but none of their other options were any more stable or secure. She knows Katherine can hold her own in a fight, but…

“You _can_ use that sword you have there, yes?” said Anna. “It’s not just for intimidation?”

Anne’s temper flared. “Of course I can! I’m a virtuoso with a sword! _No-one_ can best me in a fair fight! D’you have the gall to think you can do better?!”

“No, no I don’t. I meant no offence, I assure you, I only know Katherine can defend herself and wanted to check if you were the same.”

Now, that was new information. Katherine had talked about her previous employment when she and Anne first got to know each other, but she’d said she was employed as a maidservant. That implied tailoring and cleaning, not beating a person to a pulp.

“We were accosted on the way to the palace,” Katherine explained, picking up on Anne’s uncertainty. “I protected her.”

“Oh. Okay.” There seemed to be more to that, but it was good enough. “I’m completely fine with going straight for a bit, if that’s what you want, dear cousin. Seems there are enough problems to keep us busy. Are you tagging along, Madam von Kleve?”

“If you’ll have me.”

Katherine grinned. “Of course! I’ve got so much to tell you, show you –” suddenly remembering herself, she tempered her emotion. “I mean, if you don’t have anything more important to do. It’d be nice to share the experience with someone else.”

Anne shrugged. “S’pose we owe you for the jailbreak. If Katherine wishes it, it will be so.”

“I’m happy to know Katherine wasn’t completely alone,” remarked Anna, “even moreso now I know she has someone who cares about her happiness.”

“She’s all I have,” Anne replied.

And so, the three of them continued down the road, away from captivity and forward to whatever awaited them.

-

Princess Dowager Catalina of Aragon sat in deep meditation.

Or, at least, she would have liked to. While she was capable of emptying her mind of most of her worries, her deepest regrets and fears still linger in that void. Little things. The glint of steel. Muffled screaming. The faintest flicker of flame.

Cold.

“You called, Your Highness?”

Catalina’s eyes opened, and she returned to the present. Her servant, yes, she did call for them. “Prepare my carriage, please. I am going to see my god-daughter.”

There was a long silence. Catalina could hear the gears within their mind turning.

Soon enough (but too long for her liking), the expected answer came. “Your Highness, the Lord Regent has ordered you to remain here for your safety, and in case of a change in the king’s condition.”

“I made no such promise to the man. It’s a matter of urgency; Catherine Parr will soon be in danger. From what, I am not yet certain, but I can’t stand by should someone wish her harm.”

Another long pause. _Come on,_ Catalina silently dared her apprehensive servant. _Dissuade me_ _._ _Say that I can’t._ _Show that your true master is Thomas Cromwell, and not me. Do it._

“I assume you will want your equipment prepared as well, Your Highness?”

Catalina sighed, from relief or disappointment, she was not sure. “Correct. As soon as possible, if you please. I shall be leaving today.”


	2. Six of Wands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for blood.

Catherine Parr, alchemist, scholar and thaumaturge, handed the wooden box to the courier outfitted in the red-and-white cross of Baron Latimer. Another transaction complete; Lord Neville had his pain medication for the month.

She remained a moment longer, watching the trees, the gardens, the road upon which the courier was slowly disappearing from sight, the village in the distance. There would come a time, probably quite soon, that she would have to leave it.

Catherine knew she would be called upon to attend to the King sooner or later, and she dreaded the day. She couldn’t refuse, as it would be tantamount to treason, not to mention it would exacerbate every other problem she was experiencing. But from there, the only option for her was success. She was known as the Cursebreaker, after all, which meant she _couldn’t_ fail, despite every other learned man summoned by the Lord Regent doing just that. Failing through no fault of her own would be treason, too, because it would be seen as deliberate.

Shaking her head, she went back inside. She might as well study, if the only option was success.

-

“This is Wulfhall, then,” said von Kleve, maintaining her tone of mild interest, though the sincerity had clearly waned.

The town they stood in front of wasn’t particularly impressive. Smaller than the one they’d fled from, but there seemed to be repairs and construction going that kept the workers busy. Though not always so, it was generally an indicator of a ruler who has either come into money or a new station.

Ah, yes, Anne thought, idly watching the stone wolves carved into the walls. This was the seat of the Seymours, wasn’t it? The family that counted the missing Queen, Jane, among their kin.

There was a sudden blow to her shoulder, and Anne cursed her lack of focus.

“Oh!” Katherine cried. So Katherine didn’t catch it. That seemed… wrong.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Anne got a good look at the source of that scornful voice. A nobleman, finely dressed – those were new clothes, brightly coloured enough that he was a few steps away from being mistaken for a jester. He wore a cloak, a longsword on his belt, and a look of arrogance upon his face, only slightly obscured by his beard. Not out-of-place in his echelon of society, true, but this was more than just the look of a boy trying to fit in with his betters – this man genuinely was as haughty as he appeared.

“Does that mask make you blind? Are you a fool-for-hire, showing me your repertoire?” That got a laugh from his companions, and no-one else. _Those_ sorts of hangers-on, then. “Come on! Answer for so carelessly barging into me!”

“But that was _you_!” argued Katherine, still in disbelief. “I saw you! It was practically a charge, what you did!”

Anna stepped in before Katherine could dig herself a deeper hole. “Now, hold on a moment. There seems to be a misunderstanding, here, one I’m sure can be resolved. What is the charge, here?”

“Disrespecting the Queen’s brother! Why, it’s almost tantamount to treason –” _No it isn’t_ – “and would be a blow to my honour to allow such an insult to go unanswered. I challenge you, masked fool! I demand satisfaction!”

Anna stared. First at a man whose surname was presumably Seymour, then to Anne, then to Anne’s sword, Anne again, and sighed deeply.

“You want this, don’t you?”

Anne nodded.

“Fine. But I don’t think more than one successful blow should be necessary to prove the better combatant. I’d say first blood, but I hope it won’t come to it. Do you accept the terms, Lord Seymour?”

Seymour considered Anna with a raised brow – he wants to beat the hell out of somebody – but eventually nodded. “This won’t take long.”

“And you… Falcon?”

As Anne showed her assent, Seymour frowned. “Falcon?”

Katherine launched into action, wearing a smile and a twinkle in her eye. This was her favourite part, the announcement, getting people excited and eager to be generous with their money.

“Good people, gather ‘round, if you will! Be prepared to witness feats of martial superiority like you have never seen before! Behold, the most talented warrior in living memory, whose skill with a blade is a work of art in itself! Ready to take their place amongst the heroes of old, ladies and gentlemen, may I present, _The White Falcon_!”

With Katherine’s high-energy address, a crowd had formed around them, acting as the edges of their arena. Seymour’s confidence flagged at all the eyes upon him and the grandiosity of the introduction, but he quickly recovered, drew his sword, and handed his cloak off to one of his cronies.

Anne twirled her own weapon in her hand – completely useless in a real fight, but the audience always loved a twirl. The combatants took their places. Now, Seymour was using both hands for his sword, holding it low, the tip pointing straight at her. Given his attitude, he’d likely be an aggressive opponent.

“Ready?” called von Kleve. The street waited with baited breath, until – “Begin!”

Anne was proven correct – Seymour charges forward, attempting an upwards stab. She met his blade, twisted it one way while turning the other, stepping out of reach. He would come to her.

He did. Several more times. Parry, twist, parry, circle, each blow deflected, but never returned. He was getting frustrated. Good. Once the anticipation was ripe amongst the audience, when Seymour began to tire, Anne decided to stop playing with him.

Every strike made against her was reciprocated with blinding speed, her weapon a mere flash of silver in the air. Seymour struggled to keep up with the assault – he had exhausted himself attacking, after all. Anne’s sword slid past his guard, and there was only the slightest resistance as it cut into the side of Seymour’s neck.

There was a split-second where time was frozen. Blood beaded on the edge of Anne’s sword. Seymour looked at her, eyes unfocused, a gaze filled with pain and pure, impotent rage. This was him at his core, and Anne saw who he was.

The moment passed; Seymour’s eyes focused again, and he grinned a roguish grin.

“A hit!” he announced, pulling back. “Good show, good show! You have proven your case. I concede!”

 _For now_ went unspoken, but Anne still heard it clearly.

Anne bowed slightly at the smattering of applause she received, but she did not know whose performance had prompted it – hers’, or Seymour’s faux-graceful loss. A few coins were thrown her way, though, so that was a good sign. Better still was that Seymour had retreated, his yes-men in tow.

Anna placed her hand on Anne’s shoulder. “Honour is a mug’s game, but one you have to play if you want to be taken seriously by royalty.”

“Don’t I know it,” Anne muttered, wiping her sword free of its stain.

-

“Catherine?”

Catherine looked up from her studies. Her husband was standing in the doorway, shuffling from foot-to-foot.

Dear Edward. She loved him, not as a wife ought to love her husband, but as a friend, an affection that was shared. Theirs’ was a marriage of convenience, charity on the part of the Burghs, which had paid for them with the breaking of their blood-curse.

The man waiting for his chance to speak was no longer wracked with corruption in his very bones, though he was still physically fragile – something that was not going to go away, much to his father’s dismay. Nevertheless, he was kind, and gentle, and intelligent…

And, at the moment, anxious.

“Yes? Is everything alright?”

“I…” Edward considered his next words carefully. “We have an unexpected visitor. One that probably means us well, but still surprising.”

Catherine straightens. “Your father?”

“Er, no. Your god-mother, the Princess-Dowager. She is asking to stay for a while.”

They remained in silence for a moment, sharing the incredulity.

“I don’t think she’ll be happy with the accommodation we can offer,” Parr said eventually.

Edward paused, then laughed. “My thoughts exactly. Erm, could you, perhaps, speak with her? See what she wants?”

“Of course.”

“Oh, just to warn you – she _is_ armed.”

“...What?”

Catherine very quickly found out what her husband meant by that – the Princess-Dowager was waiting by the front door in full armour, her partisan by her side, like an extremely ornate royal guard. No wonder Edward was intimidated; her god-mother was fearsome enough _without_ all the deadly weaponry.

“Excellent,” she said. “You’re unharmed. I haven’t arrived too late.”

“I'm sorry, god-mother, could I have context for all this, please? Am I _meant_ to be harmed?”

“You might be, which is why I’m here. You’re in danger, you see. I can feel it. If it is really the case, I have a duty to protect you.”

As she realised the situation, Catherine’s shoulders slumped. “Come inside, god-mother. Let’s talk privately.”

-

The guards outfitted in Seymour livery came for Anne, Katherine and Anna a few hours later. To Anne’s surprise, however, they let von Kleve finish (and win) her round of cards before escorting them to the Lord’s seat. However, as always, Anne tempered her optimism – a positive sign now may just be courtesy, not mercy.

When the lord was ready, the three of them were brought into a study. Behind the oaken desk, big and solid enough that it may well have been carved right there, for it was not moving, sat a man not unlike the motley gentleman they’d met that morning. While physically similar, this person was trying very hard not to shrink in on himself, and seemed almost incapable of making eye contact. He looked up only briefly when they were announced, then returned his gaze to the stack of parchment in front of him.

“The White Falcon, their herald, and the announcer,” he began. “My brother claims you are thugs, vicious bandits. That you challenged him to a rigged duel, wounding him severely. That you threatened his life.”

“None of that is true at all, my lord!” Katherine objected.

“I never claimed I believed him. Knowing Thomas, I am liable to guess the true nature of events – he concocted a reason to fight you within the bounds of etiquette, and now he and his men are claiming the contest was unfair because he lost. Am I close to the truth of the matter?”

“You are, my lord,” answered von Kleve. “That’s almost exactly what happened. If we have somehow dishonoured your noble house, we extend our sincerest apologies.”

The lord chuckles. “We are quite capable of doing that ourselves, though I thank you for your humility.” He tapped his fingers, nails perfectly manicured, on the wood of the desk. “I don’t believe I’ve properly introduced myself. I am The Right Honourable Viscount Edward Seymour, Master of Wulfhall and elder brother to Sir Thomas, who I fear must suffer the harshest lesson for his arrogance to be curbed. Nevertheless, I must placate him in some manner lest he cause further trouble for my people, though it would be foolish of me to waste such a valuable fighter. What I propose is this; succeed where Thomas has failed. You shall be properly compensated for your work, of course.”

Anne removed her mask – but not the bandana – and spoke for the first time. “Forgive me, Lord Seymour, but we must know the specifics of a contract before entering it.”

“Of course, of course. It would be a simple matter for some such as yourself, I believe. There are poachers in the forest west of here. They decimate the wildlife, take what rightfully belongs to Wulfhall. I want you to find them, take them – dead or alive, but they will not remain alive for long if you simply capture them – and bring proof to me. I sent Thomas out to search, but _he_ claimed to be unable to find them. Again, you will receive coin for your efforts if successful, and if my brother believes this was your punishment, he may be dissuaded from any further attacks on you.”

Anne turned to Anna, who shrugged, then to Katherine, who displayed some reluctance, but nodded. “Very well. We accept your terms, Lord Seymour.”

“And thank you for your clemency,” added von Kleve. Anne rolled her eyes, which Lord Seymour didn’t catch due to his fear of eye contact.

“Excellent. If you can start your search within the next day or two, I would be most grateful. Bar any further questions, you are dismissed.”

When they next had a moment alone, Katherine whispered, “A proper job!”

Well, at least someone was happy. Hey, working legitimately might not be all that bad. At least the worst thing that would happen if they failed was they wouldn’t get paid.

-

“You can’t save me from the Lord Regent, god-mother, as much as you may want to. I will receive an order to save the King, no doubt soon now that the last university professor has been dismissed, and I will have to do my duty. Somehow, I’ll have to succeed where everyone else has failed.”

Parr’s god-mother was not frantic; to be frantic was beneath her. She was unsettled, though, displeased with what she was being told and mindful of the potential consequences. She stared blankly into the goblet she’d been brought.

“The danger I’ve foreseen might not be that,” she tried. “If there is any chance I can prevent a calamity that has little to do with your profession…”

Catherine pinched the bridge of her nose. She and Catalina had gone around in circles for some time now, the thaumaturge insisting there was nothing to be done and the Princess-Dowager insisting there was, actually, she just didn’t know what. Parr knows her god-mother can be stubborn when it comes to such matters, but she doesn’t want Catalina to try fighting the inevitable. It would end in despair for the both of them.

However, she _had_ been right about these completely random events a number of times. Her warning not to take the Scropes as clients, her opposition to the Burgh match (though it all worked out in the end). Catherine disliked being wrong, a trait she shared with Catalina, but it would be suicidal to discount the possibility that she was.

“If you are willing to suffer a severe downgrade in your living arrangements, then you can stay,” Catherine sighed. “It wouldn’t do for me to turn you away in my potential hour of need.”

“I was locked in a tower for many years, god-daughter, I can handle being without a royal suite.” After another moment’s thought (what was going on in her head? What did she _see_?), Catalina took Parr’s hands in hers’ and squeezed them gently, a smile on her face.

“You’ll see, Catherine. Fear not. You are protected.”


	3. Five of Swords

Thomas Cromwell, Lord Regent, sat at a desk piled high with papers, massaging his temples. He had _so_ many needless audiences today; demands to do something about the king (he was already doing all he could), reports of unrest in the north (troops had been sent already, but the royal forces were running thin), talk of demons and nightmares attacking shipments and travellers (what in the hell was that about?!). So much to do to keep the kingdom running, and no-one to properly assist him.

The King had chosen him as his regent in the event of an emergency, with a council of trusted attendants to assist him with ruling. Cromwell wasn’t sure what the king expected – infighting began from almost day one, without His Royal Majesty to terrify them into obeying. In giving him  the  leadership, the king had painted a target on Cromwell’s back. The machine that was the kingdom ran as smoothly as it could, but whenever there was even the slightest malfunction, they were on him like terriers on a rat; obstinate Gardiner,  fickle Fitzwilliam , and the man standing on front of him. 

“This has gone on a worryingly long time, Lord Regent.”

“I understand that, Your Grace.”

“The people are restless. Their king is incapacitated by foul witchcraft, with no recovery in sight.”

Cromwell looked up. “Forgive me for asking, Your Grace, but are you simply here to tell me information I already know?”

Oh, look at the bastard, Cromwell thought to himself. The very image of a schemer, of a man willing to climb atop a mountain of corpses of his own making for a chance to touch the sky. Why are so many complaining of _his_ deviousness when Duke Norfolk is right there in front of them?

“I have discussed this at length with colleagues, Lord Regent, and we believe we may have a lead,” said Norfolk, pointedly ignoring Cromwell’s question. “given the difficulties your learned thaumaturges are experiencing – and we have no concerns with your selections, of course,” which means they do, “it may be that the sorcerer is among the King’s court. This would allow them to mislead the scholars attending to His Majesty, and know exactly what efforts of theirs’ need to be thwarted.”

Cromwell stared at Norfolk long and hard. He knew what the snake was implying. The reports of the thaumaturges and their treatments go directly to Cromwell, before being released to other members of the council. He was echoing the masses in blaming the Lord Regent for the King’s curse. Any ruthless action Cromwell might wish to take against these crows at the carcass, however, would be seen as tyranny by a usurper and the festering talk of rebellion would burst into a full revolt. No king to save Cromwell if that happened.

Cromwell’s eyes flickered to the other people in the room. There were attendants, guards, any number of people who could easily bear witness to an attack on the Lord Regent’s good person. However, Norfolk was being careful, and any action taken against him over this would be seen as paranoia.

Cromwell kept his voice measured. “My thanks for the intelligence, Your Grace. I shall consider changing who receives the thaumaturge reports. Now, I must attend to other pressing matters. Please, _see yourself out_.”

Accursed witch, whoever they may be. Then again, the Duke’s suspicions, while misdirected, may not have been entirely without merit. That _would_ mean his prime suspect, presumed but not confirmed dead, would be out of the running, but it would explain a thing or two.

Cromwell took a fresh piece of parchment from the pile, and began drafting. He would need time to craft this plan of attack. First came the matter of a new thaumaturge.

-

“He’s a bloody prick, is what he is! Why in hell would the spineless shite try and appease a little brother below him in every way?!”

Anne kicked a rock across the worn-in path. This forest was suffocating – thick with trees and moss-covered stone, everything was green or brown and near-impossible to navigate. It was only Anna’s magic that kept the search party from going in circles. While she may have hated the man, Anne agreed with Thomas Seymour in that it was no easy task to find a person hiding in all this greenery.

“It may be a matter of family pride,” theorised von Kleve. “A team, or noble house, wants to be seen as a well-functioning unit. One that’s at each other’s throats is easy prey for those who want to destroy them. Just find the one causing grief – Sir Thomas, in this case – and promise him everything he thinks he’s owed if he turns on the brother who’s ‘unfairly persecuting’ him. It’s why my family kept my concerns, and my status, under wraps.”

“Why was that, exactly? I wouldn’t think a license would be that much trouble to get for a highborn lot such as yourselves.”

“It was more a matter of what’s expected of thaumaturges. There are very specific paths that I would have had to choose – _Kriegsmagierin_ , _Wahragerin_ , _Magicsherhandwerkinnen_ – and you’d have to be in service to the state, somehow. Not only did I feel I didn’t fit any of those lines of work, I was chafing enough at my noble upbringing and all the things I couldn’t do because of that. It’s selfish, but I think I would have suffocated under even _more_ regulation and expectation.”

“I don’t think it’s selfish,” replied Katherine, voice muffled through her helmet (an ugly, twisted hunk of metal, but it did the job and Katherine seemed to like it). The answer came as no surprise to Anne. Honestly, she didn’t know why she was so bothered by her cousin’s loyalty to this woman. There was the suspicion of mind-altering black magic, perhaps, but Anna was always quite firmly against mentally enslaving people. Maybe it was simply because this was something Anne didn’t know, that Katherine didn’t think to share with her.

Was it jealousy? Fear that von Kleve could take from her the only person still willing to stand by her? Anne brushed the thought from her mind; not because it wasn’t possible, but because she wasn’t willing to consider it.

She is brought from her brooding by Katherine’s voice. “What’s this?”

A small, apparently abandoned hut, as it happened. The lichen meant it blended in really bloody well with the rest of the forest. A perfect location for illegal activity.

Anne approached, sneaking a peek  through the tiny windows. The inside is clean, or as clean as it can be. A table, a simple bed with furs that weren’t rotted, a fireplace with a rusty cooking pot and burnt wood beneath it. Someone  had been here,  and recently.

A thunk, and a spray of dirt near Anne’s feet got their attention. Anne looked down; that arrow wasn’t there before. At best, a missed fatal blow, at worst, a warning shot.

“Found the poacher,” Anna quipped.

“I’m not a poacher,” came a voice from a nearby tree. Anne saw the glint of metal in between the branches; the guilty party had prepared another arrow. No ambiguity with that one – it was meant to be a killing shot, if it was loosed.

“Well, that’s very easy for you to _say_. How do we know it’s true, exactly?”

“I have permission to hunt here.”

“Oh? Viscount Seymour would have mentioned people who were supposed to be here. You have permission directly from him, then? Can you prove it?”

“…No.” The poacher paused. “I cannot answer any further questions without revealing my identity. However, I can’t let you take me in. Edward can’t know I’m here.”

Edward, not Lord or Viscount Seymour? Now that was interesting, thought Anne, and considered a different approach. “Alright, let’s try this then. I’m going to ask some questions, and you answer, ‘yes’ or ‘no’. If you think it’s too close to the truth, you can choose not to answer. Otherwise, well, there are three of us and one of you, and one of _us_ is a thaumaturge. If you don’t answer, we’re just going to assume you _a_ _re_ a poacher and throw knives and fire at your tree until you fall out. Okay?”

“ _I’m not throwing fire at anything_ ,” Anna whispered to Anne.

“ _Yeah, but_ _they_ _don’t know that_.”

After a moment’s thought, the poacher acquiesced. “I don’t think I’m in much of a position to bargain.”

“Right. So, are you intimately familiar with Edward Seymour?”

“Must you put it like that?” Some brief movement from the tree. “Yes, but not in the way you’re implying.”

“Hm. Are you a member of the nobility?”

“Yes.”

“But you’re unwilling to reveal your identity to save yourself?”

“It wouldn’t save me at all.”

Anna chimed in. “Are you familiar with this forest from previous experience?”

“Too close.”

“Ooh, very good,” muttered Anne.

The Imperial followed up with, “At one point, did you live near this area?”

No answer at all.

“Last question, then,” Anna stressed, having a strange amount of fun in this situation, “do you want us to curtsey, Your Majesty?”

…Oh.

Wait, what? Really?

-

It was supposedly a very romantic story, how Queen Jane and King Henry met. After the ordeal of the Witch-Queen, Henry fell from his horse while travelling without a full escort. The Lord of Wulfhall found and sheltered him while he recuperated, and it was the Lord’s eldest daughter Jane who tended his wounds. The king couldn’t help but fall in love with such a radiant beauty and kind heart, and the two married soon after the king had recovered.

The real Queen Jane Seymour wasn’t exactly a vision. She was fine, certainly not ugly, but it was clear the court exaggerated a bit. She had hard eyes and  used a soft, clear voice as she explained herself.

“I’ve lived here for most of my life. I know the area extremely well, and that I could evade anyone searching for me here. Including Thomas. _Especially_ Thomas.”

The queen had ‘graciously’ allowed them shelter in the hovel she was using as a base to answer any lingering questions, of which there were many. Now that she was visible, it was quite obvious that the archer wasn’t a poacher. She’s better equipped, for one thing, under that dirty, mottled cloak (which was excellent camouflage, Anne had to admit).

Anna, the diplomat, took the lead on questioning. “I thought I recognised your voice. I’m relieved to know your disappearance was voluntary, at least. Still, I’m unsure as to why. You caused a lot of people a lot of panic.”

“Well, to answer your query, I’ll try a question of my own. What would you say are the duties of a queen?”

“Intercession. Cultural patronage. Witnessing charters and answering petitions, on occasion. Surveilling the court for dissent or espionage,” Anne quickly listed. Jane and Anna were mildly taken aback by the thoroughness.

“All good answers, and I would also include acting as regent when the king is unable to rule,” Jane replied. She smiled bitterly. “I wasn’t able to do any of that. Every movement of mine was tightly controlled, my spheres of influence miniscule. When I tried to be active in governing, Henry put a stop to it. He didn’t like women who meddled with his affairs, he said. When he fell into his false sleep, there were nine people appointed to the regency council, and I was not among them. I had no power, no say, and I despised every minute of it. I decided, since they didn’t need me, I’d leave to be my own master. I see no evidence that my position would change if I returned, so here I remain.”

“And you couldn’t tell your brothers because…”

“The council wants me back as a figurehead. Edward and Thomas would gladly sell out their sister for a chance at power. I’m just a bargaining chip to them.”

She opened her mouth to continue  her surprisingly even-toned rant, but stopped. Katherine, too, seemed to have perked up.  The matter of what to do with the queen was put on hold – something was wrong.

Anne frowned, straining her ears. Yelling, panicked yelling. It was familiar, somehow. A shriek of fear, a wet tearing noise…

The swordswoman ducked down low, and crept over to the tiny arrow-slit of a window to peer through. It looked like… people. Two lots of them. Many were prone on the ground, and the others… They were hacking at them without mercy. This group’s movements were twitching, erratic, almost imitations of human motions.

“I don’t think it’s safe here anymore, Your Majesty,” she whispered.

-

“So, the one things to remember about continuous enchantments is that they have something like a fingerprint, a certain way they’re constructed that’s often unique to the magician who cast it.”

“Right.” Edward moved his bishop, and took one of Catherine’s pawns.

“The other thing is that these continuous spells is that, with proper analysis and study of their makeup, some of them can be taken apart bit by bit. So, it’s possible to remove enchantments from weapons or armour and such. And curses, of course.”

“Like unraveling a tapestry.” Catherine’s rook moved to threaten Edward’s knight.

“Exactly. Of course, there are some spells by incredibly powerful magicians, or groups of them, bolstered over the course of years, even decades, that cannot be broken like this. Think of it like… taking a chunk of steel apart with your bare hands, or something. I don’t think that’s a good analogy, but… okay, so your family curse was cast the once, maybe twice. It lasted a long time, but it was in the ‘tapestry’ category, shall we say.”

Edward relocated his knight to a safe space. “But the king’s might be in the ‘hunk of metal’ category.”

“It might be,” Catherine replied, taking Edward’s queen. “I think the thaumaturges that have already been attending to the king might have determined a ‘fingerprint’, and I anticipate that being in their notes, if they’ve left any.”

“…What am I going to do with myself, once you’re gone? I’ll be losing my closest friend.”

“You’ll continue on without me, as you must,” Catherine answered, with a sad smile. “This is my duty. To refuse would bring ruin on us both, and I couldn’t possibly do that to you.”

Edward sighed, his eyes dull with unhappiness. He moved a pawn forward. “Check.”

There was a clattering outside, and the sound of raised voices. Husband and wife looked to each other in confusion.

Then, the glass in the window shattered, and the chessboard was sent flying.


	4. Seven of Wands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for blood, violence.

The things Anne had spied through the window turned out to be just that – _things._ Though dressed in feathered caps and hunting clothes, wielding knives and axes, they were not people. Their eyes and sickening grins were empty, their colour washed-out and ashen, their manner of movement more like convulsions. They hacked away at their human prey like they were dressing a deer, unaware or unbothered by the butchery they were performing –

Until they were interrupted.

An arrow shot through the air and went clean through one of the huntsmen, the effect like a brief gust of air through a cloud of smoke, blowing a hole straight through the imitation. Despite the massive void now within it, the phantom did not fall; in fact, it rose, along with its cohorts, and began approaching the source of the arrow.

Whoosh. Another arrow. And another, another, and with each one, the nightmares’ pace grew faster, even as they were perforated by the onslaught. Despite the further unsteadiness of their gait, none collapsed from their injuries. They were closing in on the little cottage, on the barely-visible figure on the roof, their shadowy blades raised –

There was a brilliant flash of light, and a voice yelled, “Now!”

Suddenly, the hunting party was beset on both sides by blades.

Anne found that fighting these things was far less satisfying than a real person. Once pierced, the ‘flesh’ of these nightmares parted easily, and with such little fanfare – a few wisps of darkness tried to stitch itself back together in each wound she made, but Anne’s unceasing momentum meant none of them had any chance.

Katherine was a flurry of movement, ducking under spasming swings and driving her blades into any shadow fool enough to get in the way. One dared to try and stop her wild blows – for its troubles, it got headbutted out of the fight. She tore at any holes left by Jane’s arrows, trying to rip the nightmares apart…

And found success.

A huntsman, now more emptiness than substance, simply dissipated into thin air with one last pull. Katherine paid little heed to the discovery, simply moving onto the next target. One by one, the huntsmen vanished into nothing, with the faint echo of raucous laughter announcing their departure, until there is nothing left of them.

The victors remained in silence for a time, recovering from the experience. The air was still, and smelt of infection. Of rot. An echo of whatever magic brought those nightmares here.

With cautious steps, Anne goes to examine the bodies of the shades’ victims. Her stomach dropped as, beneath the brutality inflicted upon the corpses, she recognised clothes. Faces. She’d seen them briefly before, and paid them little mind – for these were the companions of Sir Thomas Seymour.

“What the hell were they doing out here?” She wondered aloud.

“Not hunting,” Jane observed, coming up behind Anne. “Weapons, but no bows or crossbows.”

“Do you recognise any of them?”

“I’ve seen one or two faces before, but only in passing. I don’t know any names.”

So they only recently latched on to the blowhard, Anne thought to herself as she knelt to check their pouches. Not surprising.

She found little in the way of clues in there. Coins, of course (which she couldn’t take, the queen was watching), small trinkets. One had a lock of hair from someone they must have been sweet on, and another had the torn remains of a note.

Wait.

“Anna?”

“Yeah?”

“If I found something broken, would you be able to repair it?”

“Provided it was small enough.”

Anne smiled grimly.

-

Catalina thundered down the hallway of her god-daughter’s residence, desperately trying to find her chosen charge. She heard the explosion – how could she have not? – and knew her premonitions had come to pass. It was not a simple letter, as Catherine had suspected, it was a genuine assassination attempt.

She found her path further along the corridor blocked by… no. Not servants. She didn’t know their faces, and they had far too many weapons.

“Out of the way!” She yelled. The not-servants didn’t move, but their surprise indicated a) they recognised her and b) they didn’t expect her here.

“The thaumaturge cannot be allowed to save the false king,” one of them proclaimed. “His corrupt government must fall!”

Oh. _False_ king. This is a matter of rebellion. Everyone knew Catherine Parr was the Lord Regent’s next choice for a miracle-worker, and this clearly included those who supported one of many claimants to the throne. Henry had no good heir – his illegitimate son was around, true, but he was a minor and born out of wedlock. The kingdom was surrounded by carrion birds, waiting for their prey to succumb. This lot aimed to speed up the process.

“I cannot allow you to carry out your plot,” Catalina announced. “Surrender, and no-one shall be hurt.”

One assassin sneered. “You would protect the man who rejected you, used you as a weapon? The son of a usurper who imprisoned you without charge?”

“I would protect my god-daughter, who is guiltless. You would fight for a man whose skill at governance and character are in question?”

“He is the rightful king –”

“A rightful king does not mean a good king!” The Princess-Dowager snapped. “Have your people not suffered enough, lost enough, in civil wars past?! I have a duty to the nation, and I will not allow it to be soaked in innocent blood once more. Last chance, lay down your weapons and retreat, or you die.”

There wasn’t any hesitation on the assassin’s part – they cried, “For King Richard!” and charged her.

Idiots.

Their fervour did them no good. They had swords, true, but Catalina had a polearm, and years of combat training and experience. When they blocked her thrusts, she simply adjusted the angle of her weapon, and attacked again. They couldn’t get past her to try and break her guard due to the space they were fighting in. Attacking her in a corridor? Honestly…

Catalina could see it in their eyes, when they realised numbers couldn’t win against advantageous weapons and battlefield. When they realised their own mortality, as their lifeblood ebbed and their heartbeats stopped.

It was a slaughter.

“Run! Get out!” One of the surviving killers cried, realising the fight could not be won, and their remaining comrades fled. Catalina stomped after them, stepping over the corpses of their brethren, but she did not move to strike. She only stopped her pursuit when the assassins disappeared through the front entrance, and not into any of the other rooms.

No living supporters of Richard de la Pole remained in the house. The blood on the tip of Catalina’s partisan dripped down the shaft, and onto her hands. The feeling was familiar.

-

Parr struggled to regain her bearings, her ears still ringing with the force of the blast. It was magic, the smell of sulphur in the air told her as much. Her husband. Where was Ed?

Her eyes focused. There were two other people in the room. One was Edward, in a corner, still reeling but conscious. The other she did not know, but she could guess from the embers dancing around their hands that this was the magician responsible for the blast.

They left Catherine little time to think. Another wave of heat erupted towards her, and she quickly performed the gesture to shield herself. Her focus; where did she leave her focus? She needed it if she wanted any power behind her spells – no, no time. Edward was in danger.

Parr was not a war-mage, and as the fight went on, that became abundantly clear. She struggled to keep up with the bombardment, throwing out wards that broke as soon as the damage was taken and panting from the heat of the blaze. But, in her strife, her eyes lit up with inspiration as she studied the pattern of magic before her.

The next time the assassin-wizard sent a blast of flame her way, she reached out her hand, fingers outstretched. The inferno twisted, and shrunk, burning white as it became a tiny ball in the palm of Parr’s hand. Without pause, Parr threw it back to its creator.

It _incinerated_ them. The attempted killer barely got out a shriek before what was left of them crumbled into a vaguely human-shaped pile of ash.

Silence.

Catherine was shaking uncontrollably. Everything had been unbearably hot mere moments ago, now she was chilled to the bone. She hadn’t killed before. She’d unravelled the spell’s energy, harnessed it herself instead of dispersing it – she had no idea the result would be that devastating.

She gasped, another thought jumping to the forefront. Edward. Catherine ran to him; he was unburned, but pale, clammy, his face twisted in pain. Desperately, his wife tried to figure out what ailed him, what she had that would help, _how she was going to get to it if there were more assassins trying to kill them_ , all while mumbling empty reassurances.

The door slammed open, and Catherine once again created a ward – but it was not another foe. It was her godmother, armed, bloody and alarmed at the burnt-out husk that this room now was.

Parr hated admitting when she was wrong, but she hated feeling powerless more.

“Help,” she pleaded.

-

“Shades,” said Edward Seymour, his voice flat and unimpressed. “In _my_ forest.”

Anna nods. “I wouldn’t have believed it myself, my lord, if I hadn’t seen them with my own two eyes. Regrettably, they themselves have left little trace of their presence, save for the bodies they left in their wake.”

“Yes, I noticed the herald wasn’t with you. My condolences.”

“Oh, no, my lord, she is simply recovering, not dead – thank the stars.” This was partially true. “I am referring to a group of individuals we could not save.”

“Your brother’s friends,” Anne added, sourly. von Kleve had reconstructed the note; it was instructions to follow her and her companions into the forest to ‘teach them a lesson in respect’. How many dead for one man’s pride? It disgusted her.

The viscount considered this information carefully. “You must understand how this sounds to a cynical ear. It would not be unreasonable to assume that there were no shades at all, and that you killed these men. That you are lying to your better.”

“We would _never_!” exclaimed Anna, just a touch too appalled to be legitimate, but it was only Anne’s expert ear that told her that. “In fact, we have a bit of evidence that, at the very least, will clear us of cold-blooded murder. If you would, my lord…”

She handed over the reconstructed note, not entirely complete but legible enough. Seymour took it gingerly, and all was quiet for several moments as he read. Then, he sighed deeply.

“This is my brother’s handwriting. It is extremely unlikely you could have seen it before, much less copy it with such skill to the point where it looks identical. I fear I have allowed his behaviour to go unpunished for too long… look at what he has wrought. I am still sceptical of your shade story, but I will not charge you for these deaths. If you could tell me their location, so my men may retrieve them…?”

Anne described the area where the bodies were located. The viscount smiled sadly.

“I know the place you speak of. There used to be a hermit living in that hut, though I imagine he’s long gone now. My siblings and I used to dare each other to get as close to the house as we could, before he chased us off.”

The smile faded as quickly as it came. This was partially because someone else burst into the room – the viscount’s idiot brother, Thomas. He eyed Anne and von Kleve with disdain.

“Hm. So you failed, then.” _And you’re still alive. Weird._

“Quite the opposite,” Anna replied, face completely neutral. “We located and dealt with those we believe to be responsible. I am sorry to say, however, that your companions…”

The fury in Sir Thomas’s eyes was quite unlike the haughtiness he had displayed previously. This was _cold_. “You killed them, didn’t you?”

“We didn’t,” Anne cut in, absolutely seething, “ _we_ might have shown mercy to your henchmen. _We_ wouldn’t have cut them to pieces like the butcher slices up a cut of meat, wouldn’t have mauled them beyond recognition, and _they never would have died if you hadn’t been such a fucking narcissist_ _that you needed your worthless honour avenged_!”

“How dare you speak to the queen’s brother in that way!” Thomas roared.

“Thomas,” said the viscount, but he went unheeded.

“I should never have to answer to a fucking street performer with delusions of grandeur! You’re a cheat! A snake, who deserves to have that poisonous tongue cut out of your head!”

“ _Thomas_.”

“Do you forget you speak to a knight of the king?! A drop of my blood is worth more than you have in your entire body, and I will gladly take it as repayment for this offence!”

Viscount Seymour slammed his hand on the desk with such force that the room seemed to shake. Thomas, thank heaven, is silenced at last.

“Explain this note, Thomas,” the viscount commanded, holding up the offending piece of paper. Thomas’s eyes widened, but he did not answer. “ _Explain._ ” Still nothing. “Explain, or get out. If you do neither, I will call the guards to escort you back to your rooms.”

Sir Thomas is fuming, and Anne can barely contain her delight. After glaring at everyone present with a gaze that could melt through stone (even Anna, who hadn’t done anything), he turned on his heel and stalked out.

The man’s brother sighed again, sounding utterly exhausted. “You will receive coin for your search efforts, for now I know they’ve achieved something. See my steward about your reward – and leave as soon as possible afterwards, lest I change my mind about punishment for the trouble you’ve caused.”

Anne was about to protest, but a firm hand clamped down on her shoulder. Anna shook her head – this was not a battle Anne should fight.

With a deep breath to calm herself, Anne left the viscount to pick up the pieces of another man’s pride.

“It would’ve been so much easier if we’d gone with my idea and framed them as the poachers. That way, we have proof they’re dead.”

“That can be disproved by information we don’t have,” Anna responded. “Sir Thomas could have called our bluff, and we’d be out of luck.”

“We had the note –”

“– Which would have served as a motive for our lie, and wouldn’t have excused us. It’s a matter of risk versus reward, Anne. We could have had our hands cut off for assaulting Sir Thomas, or worse, even though he was at fault. You know that. _Then_ what would have become of Katherine?”

“Don’t use her as a pawn in your argument,” Anne snarled. “ What gives you the right? Is this all just a game to you?! Why are you trying to take her from me?!”

Anna’s eyebrows were raised in genuine surprise at the outburst.

“I’m not,” she promised. “She cares about you very much, and I will not try and dissuade her from doing so. Kindness is something to be encouraged. I can’t speak for her, or her reasons for liking me, but _I_ owe _her_ my life.”

They arrived at the small camp a fair distance outside of town. There are only two at the campfire; one rises to greet Anne and Anna as they approach.

“It all went okay?” Katherine asked.

“As well as it could, I think,” Anna surmised. She turned to the other person in front of the fire. “Are you ready to go?”

Queen Jane, once again masked, looked up. “I don’t think I am, but I have little choice. At the very least, I can be useful with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Richard de la Pole was the last member of the House of York to seek the throne of England. He was allied with France for much of the early 1500s, before he was killed in battle in 1525.


	5. Queen of Cups

Edward Burgh lay in bed, asleep. It was possible he’d never wake.

His wife and carer sat beside his bed, eyes unfocused. He’d been stabilised with all the tinctures and elixirs Catherine could find – without overwhelming him. Too much could kill him, too. She couldn’t do anything but wait, and it was torture. At least when breaking the curse, she was working near-constantly, keeping herself busy and taking consistent steps towards her goal. Waiting, necessity or not, made her feel useless. Perhaps there was more she could do, and simply didn’t know it. The thought ate at her.

There was a knock at the door, and she flinched before calming herself. Assassins wouldn’t knock. In fact, she knew who was on the other side of the door – yes, her god-mother, keeping a close eye on her.

“Your father-in-law is here,” she announced. “Should I let him in?”

“He’ll try breaking down the door if you don’t.” When Catalina didn’t move, “…Yes, send him in, please.”

Baron Thomas was a tall, fit man, his face more often than not twisted in a vicious scowl. Though his thick dark hair marked him as father to Edward, that was one of the few similarities they shared – the baron exploded at the slightest sign of disrespect, always carried himself like he was daring someone to challenge his authority. The latter was very true as he walked in to behold the prone form of his first-born son.

“How is he?” The baron was not one for small talk.

“Stable, for the moment,” Catherine replied, emotionless. “Primary treatments at present are to keep his pulse at a consistent rate, and relieve undue stress on his heart.”

“Will he live?”

“Can’t promise anything. Internal trauma is not as easily treated as external injury. I can do no more but keep up the current dosage without risking his health. I’ve sent word to a man who specialises in diseases of the organs, but it will take time for him to get here.”

Baron Burgh nodded.

“You’ll stay with him?” he asked.

“For as long as I can. I know the Lord Regent’s summons are on their way.”

Another nod,  this one with clenched jaw . “Sodding bloody regent. Didn’t call for you until all the university eggheads were chewed up and spat out. Should’ve gone with the Cursebreaker to break the curse  _first_ – not give the damned rebels all the time they needed to get you.”

Catherine said nothing. The flames were still fresh in her mind.

“You’ve done an acceptable job so far,” said the baron, “but keep in mind I’m under no obligation to support you if my son dies.”

“I understand, my lord.”

Baron Burgh took a long look at the figure in the bed, and a flicker of emotion other than anger crossed his face. Then, he was gone.

Catherine couldn’t process it. Everything was crashing down around her, for something that wasn’t a crime and that she hadn’t even done yet. She would have to leave the manor, for it was owned by the baron, and all the ingredients that she’d grown in the gardens. Would her more esteemed clients even continue to commission her, without that connection.

She only vaguely realised that the Princess-Dowager was now sitting next to her.

“I remember my husband,” Catalina said, idly. “Pale. Arms like twigs. Often tired himself out. But, responsible, sophisticated, and kind. Your Edward reminds me of him.”

“I know you’re trying to help, god-mother, but your husband quite famously died of illness before the physicians could get to him.”

“And yet I was able to continue on. I miss Arthur, of course. I miss what he could have been – what _we_ could have been. But that will not be the same with you. You are capable on your own.”

Of course. Catalina was meant to be queen. That was obvious in… everything about her. Her bearing, her love for the country. But she _wasn’t_ queen, was she? After his father’s death, King Henry broke the marriage agreement off and married the woman now only known as the Witch-Queen. Even after the claims of black magic and the woman’s execution, he wouldn’t consider marrying Catalina, beloved by the people. Despite the constant rejection, Catalina still fought for the kingdom, putting down riots and rebellions not for the king, but for the innocent people – in theory. She took an oath of honour, courage, duty and compassion, which fuelled her every action. She hoped, she had faith, and Henry would never reward it by granting her her rightful place on the throne.

“I carry on,” Catalina concluded. “I am still here, and I can still act to protect others.”

 _But you’re not_ happy _, are you?_ Parr thought. _Despite it all, you’ll never get what you’re owed._ _Your time is_ _gone, and you’ll never get it back._

-

Anne and her esteemed company had been travelling for a few days, now. The next town, they told themselves, there’d be work, food and beds in the next town. Until then, it was small wagers with passing travellers and the company of their own thoughts – and, given Anne had revealed her thoughts about Anna to both the person in question and to herself, she was not having a good time.

“Hey.”

Anne blinked, then smiled. Katherine. “Hey.”

“You alright? You’ve seemed kind of out of it.”

“Oh, yeah. Well, a lot’s happened. Shades exist. The queen is alive, and right over there.” Anne pointed at the archer in the blotchy cloak, who didn’t seem to make any noise as she walked.

“Fair point. Um, but Anna mentioned something to me earlier.” Ah, hell. “You don’t trust her.”

“I don’t trust a lot of people, Kate.”

“Yeah, but you think that she’s gonna try and turn me against you, right? I’m telling you, she’s not that sort of person.”

“How am I meant to know that? The very first thing she did when I met her was lying to a hell of a lot of people.”

“You trust me, don’t you?” Anne nodded in the affirmative. “Would it help if I told you about how we got to know each other?”

Anne paused. “I know a bit, but I want to hear it from you.”

“Okay.” Katherine takes a deep breath. “Well, to start with, you know how I get, when I fight? How I can only focus on the rhythm of it?”

Yes, Anne knew, sort of. It wasn’t often clear what was going on in Katherine’s head when that happened. Her face lost all emotion, focused on something no-one but her could see. Her movements _were_ often like a dancer’s, however, swaying and twisting to move into position or land a blow, and Anne could swear she heard her humming, sometimes. 

“I got like that when we were attacked,” Katherine went on. “You know how it happens without me meaning to, sometimes.”

( _Anna had explained to Anne that she often travelled light, and that included staff. On her trip to see King Henry, she’d hired two maidservants (one of which was Katherine), a cultural advisor to prevent any accidental offence on her part, and a few guards. When her carriage was_ _fired upon by… bandits? Xenophobes? She wasn’t sure, the guards were taken by surprise._ )

“I remember the noise. The thudding of the arrows into the carriage door, the yelling, and someone trying to get in. I didn’t want this to be the end; I didn’t want Anna or me or anyone else to die, and this was my best chance at a stable job. I was scared, and I lashed out.”

( _Anna was shocked, of course, when Katherine kicked the door open, knocking the invading bandit to the ground and stomping on him as she jumped out. The guards were still alive at this point, and Katherine charged into the fray with them and began to knock some heads. Anna watched from carriage window, hiding with the advisor and the other maidservant_ _, watching the action. The guards were reasonably effective, certainly, but Katherine was something else, ducking and weaving between folk with actual weapons and holding her own, a whirlwind of movement._ )

“It was stupid of me, to panic and run in like that. But, Anna wasn’t frightened, didn’t hate me. She said it was amazing, and that I was brave. I was wary at first, previous experience, you know, but Anna never pushed. I think she was the first person I met who didn’t push in some way.”

Anne understood, then. She’d heard of Henry Mannox and Francis Dereham from Katherine’s fragmented accounts of them, and saw Thomas Culpepper with her own eyes. They pushed in different ways – Mannox over time, wearing Katherine down,  Dereham used fear, Culpepper played on her desire to be  useful and loved.

“Was I the second?” Anne asked.

“Uh-huh. Listen, you’re both important to me. I don’t like one of you more than the other; both of you showed me that… that I’m worthy of being loved. That I’m not just a wicked girl, or a danger.” Katherine paused. “I almost believe it. So, don’t go fighting her over me, alright? I’m not gonna leave you all alone.”

“Promise?”

Katherine smiled. “Promise.”

“I suppose that’s alright, then,” said Anne. She didn’t want to be alone again. If Anna wasn’t trying to force that outcome, then she was a welcome addition.

-

“ _Oh, you’d love this one, Cath, one of the cases I heard today, absolutely hysterical. So, there’s this fellow in Northorpe, his chickens keep going missing, and he spots some wolf tracks heading away from the coop one muddy day. He hires a woodsman, no sign of any wolf – but, there are footprints leading away from the tracks. Turns out there was someone at the other end of the village who had boots with wolf paw-prints on the soles – he was stealing the chickens and hoping the imaginary wolf’d cop the blame!”_

Catherine jolted awake. Edward was still unconscious; his tale merely a memory. She shouldn’t have dozed off; what if he’d needed her? It was not just her stability riding on this, but her happiness – Edward was a friend, and she couldn’t bear the thought of being responsible for his death. There was someone else in the room. Without the garden she and the servants had cultivated, she’d have to buy ingredients, expensive in their own right, most times. The stores she’d gathered would have to be moved, to where? Back to Kendal? Would Baron Burgh be willing to transport –

Someone else in the room.

Parr immediately threw a ward over Edward’s sleeping form, and faced the silhouette. “Are you here to kill me?”

“It must be done, for the sake of –”

“Oh, sod off.” She raised a hand, and tiny sparks of lightning arced between her fingers, lighting up the pitch-black room in flashes and jolts. “If you try it, I’ll shoot you and you’ll die instantly. Even if you do get a dagger between my ribs, my god-mother – you know, the Princess-Dowager who goes around squashing rebellions – will go on a crusade against you and every single member of your conspiracy. Don’t pretend you won’t be found. You know you will be. Now, go back through that window you presumably climbed through, and rethink your life choices.”

There was a long moment of silence, save for the continued buzzing of electricity around Catherine’s hand. She heard a very soft, very contrite “Okay,” and the silhouette vanished through the window and into the moonlight. Such conviction from the rebel forces.

Catherine sank back into her chair, adrenaline once again draining from her, leaving nothing. It was too dangerous to stay here, for the both of them.

But, for now, she couldn’t leave.

-

“Mistress von Kleve.”

They’d stopped for the night, gathered around the crackling fire with a few other travellers. Katherine was playing her flute while the strangers clapped along,  and Queen Jane sat away from everyone else with absolutely no idea what to do.

“You called me Mistress von Kleve,” Anna remarked. “That worries me. Is something wrong?”

Anne steeled herself. “I figured I should use your proper title. I think I owe you… an apology.”

“…And you mean just that, right? An ‘apology’ isn’t a euphemism for something else?”

“No. Literally anything else would be easier for me. Um…” Anne cleared her throat. “I’m a very suspicious person. I have reason to be, and while I’m not ready to share the reason just yet, I promise it’s good. As such, I tend to be pretty short with new people, and you happened to get that treatment too, undeservingly.”

“Did Katherine get this from you, as well?” Anna questioned, keeping her expression mild.

“She did, actually, just as unfairly. I met someone she was seeing at the time – bad person, obviously – and I didn’t have good relations with her side of the family, either. Of course, she’s nothing like them. She’s been hurt by the people she trusted, too, but she still has enough love and faith in her to trust _me_. I was so completely alone in the world when I first met her face-to-face, and I never want to go back to that again. I was scared you’d do just that, and take Kate away.”

Anna contemplated Anne’s confession for an unbearably long time. She took her deck of cards out of her pouch, running her thumb along the edges.

“I understand,” she said softly. “I understand what it’s like to be lost. I have no intention or desire to inflict that upon you. I want to know you better before I make any unbreakable vows, but I'd like to be friends with you, Anne Taurine.”

Anne… didn’t know what to do with this feeling.  People had wanted her favour in the past, but that was because of her position – she always managed to say the wrong thing, or get snappy at just the wrong time. Everyone who  claimed they liked her was dead, lying, or Katherine.  For Anna to still want to know her…

“But,” von Kleve interrupted Anne’s thoughts, “I have some advice, and I mean this in the kindest way possible. While _I_ won’t isolate you, you should take care not to isolate yourself.”

Anne sighed. While she nodded, such a feat was easier said than done.


End file.
